The Face of Scandal by Helena Maeve

personal affront.
    But Dylan wasn’t Malcolm.
    “I don’t want to do this,” Hazel forced out.
    “Okay.” He grimaced as he unraveled his work, the knots loosening without effort. “There, see? Everything’s fine. Now…”
    As soon as she was free, Hazel backed out of the playroom, her legs buckling like pool noodles when she hit the edge of the bed. She half sat, half collapsed to the mattress and put her head in her hands. “I’m sorry.”
    “Nothing to be sorry about.”
    The playroom door shut with a click as Dylan followed her out. She was suddenly very cold, the nipple clamps more pain than pleasure.
    “Wait, let me—”
    Dylan’s plea fell on deaf ears. With a shaking hand, Hazel unclipped first one, then the other, and squeezed her eyes shut against the pain that blossomed in her flesh. “Fuck…”
    She could suffer spanking and caning, no problem, but remove the nipple clamps without enough pressure to take the edge off and she howled like a dog. The thought of removing the anal plug filled her with added shame.
    She had spoiled the moment. She’d ruined their evening. Again .
    Dylan crouched on the floor at her feet. “Is it okay if I touch you? You don’t have to say yes…”
    “I know that.” It’s not what you think. Hazel struggled to meet his eyes. “You did nothing wrong.”
    “Okay.”
    “I mean it.”
    “You don’t have to worry about my feelings right now.”
    Hazel rolled her eyes. “Stop being so fucking understanding! Please. You make the saints look bad.”
    Although it seemed to take some effort, Dylan nevertheless mustered a shaky smile. He took her ankle in a gentle hold and began rubbing at the patch of skin where the ropes had barely mottled the flesh.
    His touch was so delicate that Hazel feared she might weep.
    She reached down and, threading her fingers through his, pulled her hand between her knees. “Did Ward—how much did he tell you about the film?”
    “Not much,” Dylan admitted. “I didn’t want to know.” He hesitated before he went on, “He mentioned you were crying. Did I do something to—?”
    Hazel shook her head quickly. “No, nothing like that.” I know you’re not like Malcolm .
    Dylan listened when she asked him to stop. He took her cramping legs into account. He never pushed her beyond what she could take.
    But Dylan deserved an explanation. Hazel looked down at their joined hands. “We were doing suspension play in the basement of his parents’ house. I guess I must’ve tugged too hard or moved around too much…” Or simply weighed too much. She cleared her throat. “Anyway, by the end of the video one of the nails in the ceiling comes loose.”
    “Shit.”
    “Yeah, the others came out, like, ten seconds later. I, uh, hit the ground pretty hard. Chipped a tooth,” Hazel recalled with little mirth. “Whoever uploaded the video left that part in. Sort of an America’s Funniest Home Videos kind of thing to go with the porn.” She worried the chain that tied the butterfly clips with a toe. “That’s why I freaked out on you.”
    Bet Sadie would never do that. She’d laugh it off.
    “No wonder,” Dylan’s voice was dark.
    Hazel winced. “I know I should’ve told you—I just couldn’t.” It wasn’t the only secret she’d kept from him. Dylan was probably used to peeling back the layers of Hazel’s neuroses by now. She couldn’t believe he hadn’t tired of it yet.
    To her surprise, Dylan rose from the floor and gave her hand a reassuring press. “Scoot up.”
    “Why?”
    Dylan arched his eyebrow. “Do you want to stop everything?” It was a rhetorical question—every time something went wrong in the bedroom, Hazel was quick to jump back on the horse. Her libido cared nothing for wounded egos or minor bodily harm.
    She always did as she was told, slave to his heated gaze and the slow glide of his palms up her splayed thighs.
    “You can tie me up again if you want…”
    “Oh, you’re giving me permission?”